with kitbag and a lantern. the trails we marked w/
bighorn sheep and fox. w/ cottontail and black bear
are done. the primal forests hostage. the sky singed
w/ swirling particles.
the leaves of grass are leaving—O,
glint to which i’ve bent. blood pooling
on the asphalt. big brown eyes that fix
on nothing but the imprint of the sky. as if
remembering. i see myself reflected
in clouds that are the eyes that didn’t look both ways
before it crossed. the fawn that didn’t stop
for drivers on their cell phones. the trails we’ve marked w/
speeding cars. buses swerving so as not to crush
the body still alive. though barely breathing.
